Mortality
by TrainxEve-Fan12
Summary: Life's a rather fragile thing, and realizing as much makes Nick desperate to know a few things about his female companion.  NickxRochelle


"Tonight's top story…Rochelle is not going to make it…"

Rochelle's dry sense of humor remained intact even as she fell to the ground, her legs finally giving out from under her. Sweet mother of God, it hurt. Fuck. Shit. Damn. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. She hurt all over. Every single nerve in her body was screaming in desperate pain, begging her to do something, anything, to ease the hurting. She'd try to brush it off after that damn witch and that damn hunter had attacked so close to one another and nearly killed her, and she'd pretended she was fine, but the pills she'd taken were wearing off and she hurt so damn bad.

"Does anyone else feel like crap right now…?" she laughed as she rolled onto her back on the cold, damp grass-moss, but her voice cracked and she sounded close to crying. She turned her head to see Ellis running towards her, followed closely by Nick and Coach.

"Ro!" Nick exclaimed as Ellis dropped to his knees next to her.

"You alright, Rochelle?" Ellis asked quickly.

"I feel like shit, if we're being honest…" she mumbled, smiling painfully at him. "Damn. All the health packs in the world…" she let out a pained cough, "aren't gonna be enough to fix me…"

Nick's eyes roamed across her broken body helplessly. She was already covered in bandages from several health packs, but they were stained with blood. Blood was _everywhere_, dripping from the corner of mouth, her nostrils, all the cuts that littered her from the witch's claws and the hunter's angry hands.

"Come on, we can't lose you yet," he mumbled, pulling her to her feet although she hissed in protest and Coach mumbled that they shouldn't move her. What were they supposed to do, stay where they were and wait for the rest of the zombies to kill them?

As he lifted her, she let out a pained whimper. He winced, realizing how much she must be hurting. They all hurt, but damn if she didn't look like she was biting back the most painful scream possible. As soon as he removed his hands from around her body, she almost fell again. He caught her, holding his arms around her waist, and she let out a quite shriek.

"Sorry guys…I can't…" she let out a shaky laugh. Oh God, it hurt so much that her words came out slurred but at the same time husky and rough. "Any of you gentlemen wanna carry the cute girl?"

Coach started towards her as though to oblige, but Nick had lifted her into his arms, bridal style. She was in too much pain to do much more then let out a hiss between her clenched teeth.

"Come on guys, I see a safe house," Ellis mumbled, but she looked at him and she could see the colour was drained from his face. Her eyes flickered her Coach, and his features were marked with a deep frown that put lines and wrinkles in places she hadn't realized he had lines or wrinkles. She looked back at the man holding her, and his face was unreadable, as per usual. She let out a shaky, half-hysterical laugh as she realized what they were thinking – they thought she was going to die. They seriously thought she was going to die. She figured the same, but she'd thought that tons of times. Ellis and Coach and strangely of all, Nick, had always insisted she'd be fine, never letting her so much as entertain the thought of dying. But she could tell from their faces that despite the calming words they were telling her that they thought she was a goner. Ellis insured she'd be fine, telling her about the time Keith had tried to juggle some knives to impress a girl and, long story short, had led to him getting a bunch of cuts that were very nearly as bad as what she had, and he'd been just fine so she'd be, too, but it sounded hollow and insincere, distracted – Coach just reminded her that she couldn't die now, they weren't done yet, little sister, how could she make her show if she didn't survive til the end of it? Nick didn't say anything, but he was a bit distracted between carrying her and not getting them both killed, so she forgave him. She tried to help out by shooting the zombies with her pistol as they ran, but it wasn't easy. Just lifting her arms sent millions of needles into her nerves. But it wasn't fair for him to have to do all of the work by himself.

Ellis and Coach reached the safe house first and Nick practically threw himself and Rochelle in after them. They slammed the door shut before several angry zombies could scratch at their backs, and Ellis and Coach were all-too happy to shoot the remaining zombies from the inside before they stacked boxes and chairs against the door.

"Hey, Overalls, give me your medkit," Nick commanded as he set Rochelle down on a couch. She barely let out a whimper, too tired to be bothered with more. Her pistol dropped from her hand to the floor.

"Ring around the rosies, pocket full o' posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall dowwwn…" she sang drowsily.

"Here," Ellis said, stopping barricading the door long enough to toss the remainder of the medkit on his back to Nick now that they could stop long enough to bandage her properly.

"Thanks," Nick said gratefully. He began wrapping Rochelle's wounds as she looked up at him, sleepily. Too sleepily. It worried him. He absentmindedly lifted her legs to the arms of the couch to elevate them and keep her from going into shock. He knew plenty about keeping people from going into shock. Don't ask how.

"Hey, Nick…?" the injured woman asked him softly.

"Yeah?" he mumbled, still wrapping, still not looking up at her face, afraid to look.

"Am I going to die?"

Nick stiffened abruptly, freezing. Ellis opened his mouth as though to comfort her, but Nick raised his hand to silence him. Anything Ellis would say would be a lie, because none of them knew if Rochelle would live, but Ellis would insist he knew she'd be fine, and it wasn't fair to lie to her about this.

"It looks…it looks real bad," he mumbled, a lump in his throat he struggled to swallow. "But me and Ellis and Coach are gonna do our damdest to keep you alive, kay, sweetheart?"

She smiled, nodded, and closed her eyes. He wanted to make sure she'd stay awake, unsure if she'd wake up at all if he allowed her to slip into unconsciousness now. But it would be cruel to do so, and he eventually relented to her quiet pleas to let her sleep, _please_. And so Rochelle let slumber rescue her from the pain, filling every nerve with empty blackness, oblivion, instead of searing fire. She just hoped…she just hoped she woke up.

So did he.

* * *

><p>He kept telling them that there had to be another way around – lowering that pathetic excuse for a bridge would just attract the horde. It would be insane. But they'd tried to find a detour, dammit, and the only way forward was past that damn bridge in the damn swamp surrounded by damn mudpeople and more damn witches than he was personally comfortable with. So he'd reluctantly allowed Ellis the pull the lever, put down the bridge, and seal their doom.<p>

The last person he'd been worried about was Rochelle. None of them had health packs, but she looked much better than the rest of them. Hell, he himself felt on the urge of dying, his vision blurring out around the edges. But in the wave of zombies that ensued (and dammit it was a wave; not just a stupidly large horde, but a giant wave) he'd been separated from his teammates. He wasn't worried. None of them were weak. They could handle themselves.

Then he heard a shriek.

"Ah! Get this thing off of me! Help!" Rochelle's voice went into the air like a bomb, screaming desperately, high pitched with fear. "Hunter on me! _HUNTER ON ME!_"

Nick glanced at Ellis and Coach. They both glanced towards her direction but had their own shit to deal with. Coach tried to break away but couldn't, too many zombie surrounded them. Looks like Ellis should've been more careful about killing that Boomer. Those bastards had the nasty habit of exploding all over you and attracting all sorts of zombies.

Rochelle gave another agonized shriek.

Nick took off running towards her, and it only took two shots to kill the hoody'd bastard on top of her. He looked her over quickly – she was lying on her stomach, and her back looked like hell. Claw marks, blood everywhere – damn. He knew she'd be fine; they'd all taken hits this bad and survived with little more than a bunch of scars, but she was probably hurting.

"Come on, get up, get up!" he mumbled urgently as he helped her too her feet. She nodded gratefully.

"Thanks. I owe ya one."

"Don't go giving me ideas, sweetheart."

Rochelle was about to reply before several zombies decided it would be a good idea to run at them. Not a fun distraction, but it didn't matter. They were back to work, killing all the zombies they could manage and not getting killed themselves.

It didn't take long before it was over, and despite the size of the horde, none of them were dead. Ellis wasn't doing so hot, seeing as how a charger had gotten at him, but they'd taken care of it before he'd been too seriously injured. Rochelle's back didn't look very good at all, but she'd wrapped it with bandages from a medkit and she kept on insisting that she was fine. So they kept moving.

As it turned out, she wasn't fine at all. (Or at least, she wouldn't be for long.)

They were all being careful when they heard the sobbing of the witch, and they'd avoided shooting the crying zombie thus far, even with the small horde that was currently attacking them. All was well, and it almost looked like they'd be able to avoid startling the witch, when a bullet nicked her.

Hell, it might not even have been Rochelle's bullet. Who knew at this point? But Rochelle was closest and that previously passive, sad little Witch was suddenly all screams and fury, ripping at Rochelle's body everywhere, tearing the bandages she'd just wrapped and ripping open the wounds that were just beginning to close. Ellis and Nick and shot at the thing, Coach whacked at it with an axe until it released her, but he wasn't fast enough. Rochelle was hurt. Badly. Blood dripped from the corners of her mouth, and her clothes and skin were in ruins, especially on her back but in other places, too. She looked like she was dying.

But she'd put on a brave face. Wrapped herself up again, took a bunch of pain pills…said she felt just fine. And they'd believed her. Stupid, stupid, stupid, they'd believed her. Damnit.

Nick watched her as she slept quietly on the couch. Coach and Ellis were both upstairs sleeping; Nick had told them he'd join them shortly. He hadn't.

It had been a whole day since she'd collapsed, asleep, on the couch. It was approaching two. And he'd barely slept at all.

It wasn't like he felt guilty; he didn't. This wasn't his fault, and he knew it. He just…wanted to watch her. To make sure he could still see the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He was concerned. Really and deeply concerned for her. Which was almost…disturbing to him. He hadn't been worried about someone other than himself in a while. Nevertheless, he wanted her to be safe, happy.

She'd been hurt.

He didn't like it when she got hurt.

So there he sat, on the floor across from the couch she was laying on, leaning against the wall, hoping desperately that she'd wake up. The quiet noises of the swamp, the buzzing of bugs and the occasional shriek of a dying zombie were his apocalyptic lullaby. Understandably, staying awake to watch her had not been difficult.

He stared at her and realized that, although he'd practically lived with her for more than a month, he didn't know anything about her. About any of them, for that matter. He knew she'd worked for a news station, but that was about the extent of it. What had her life been like before all this? Did she have a boyfriend? A family? Where did she live, what were her hobbies? Was she…_happy?_ Suddenly all of this seemed of paramount importance.

A small groan came from the body on the couch, then a whimper, distracting him. Nick's head snapped up to look at her, and he quickly crawled over.

"Sweetheart?"

She let out another groan, then mumbled, "Nicolas…?

He grinned slightly, then asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Like a crazy woman with claws tried to rip my face off," she said with a pained smile, and his grin grew. If she was still joking, she'd be fine. "How long have I been…" she let out another shaky breath, wincing, "asleep?"

He stood up, grabbing some pain pills, a bottle of water, and two pieces of bread. "Take these," he instructed, and she did as she was told, taking two of the pills and washing them down with a gulp of water, before munching on the bread. She felt hungry. "You've been out almost two days."

"Jesus Christ," she mumbled. "I still feel like shit."

"Give the pills a minute to sink in."

She nodded slowly, staring at the ceiling as though distracted, and he remembered his questions, his desire to know more about her. He was filled with the urgent need to know once again. Glancing at the ceiling too, almost shyly, he asked, "Ro?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you do…before all this shit happened?"

"Hm? I told you. Worked for a news station." She laughed to herself, although the effort clearly hurt. "I toted coffees like we tote first aid kits."

"No. I mean, what was _life_ like?"

"Huh? Oh …well…I guess it was like…"

And so they talked. They talked about things that most men and women never tell each other. Slowly, getting deeper into their past and their memories. Even when he'd told her things he'd never mentioned to anyone at all, Nick kept talking. Nick kept talking because it seemed to distract her from the pain, and because deep down he'd wanted to tell someone for what felt like a millennia. And even when Rochelle had told him her deepest insecurities, she kept talking because he seemed desperate to know and because this was good, right, oddly comforting to make herself vulnerable to him or to anyone at all.

He told her about his three ex-wives, his alcoholism, his drunken father beating him and his mother and his sister with a baseball bat. He told her he hated himself because he was just like his father, an arrogant alcoholic with a fierce temper and few morals. He told her about working as a conman, how hard but at the same time fun and _alive_ it was. He told her about how damn stupid he was.

She told him about her childhood in a loving family with two loving parents. She told him about being called _nigger_ at school, about being _touched_ at the age of thirteen by a highschool senior, and about how she was now equally afraid of sex and of being a frigid bitch. She told him about how badly she wanted to make it big, to be the best reporter, because then she'd never ever be invisible or scared again.

Sometimes she'd just doze off in the middle of speaking, waking up a few minutes later, and her occasional moans were enough to remind him that she was in a hell of a lot of pain. But mostly they just talked, joked, laughed. It was effortless in a way they hadn't imagined possible during a zombie apocalypse, and for that reason it was perfect. They felt almost normal, just talking, sometimes being deep and sad but mostly not. _Normal._

Eventually, Nick started to yawn. Rochelle noticed and asked abruptly, "Why are you still up? Ellis and Coach are asleep, right?"

"I was trying to make sure you were still breathing, sweetheart. Try to sound more grateful."

"I'm alright. You can go to bed."

He paused for a minute, trying to think up an excuse for staying here with her, but decided that he'd already told her enough about himself that showing her he wasn't a completely heartless bastard didn't exactly rank highly on the list of risks.

"Maybe I just want to stay here with you."

"Why would you wanna do a stupid thing like that?" she asked softly, staring at the ceiling again. Her tone wasn't accusatory or even really questioning him; it seemed more like an absent-minded question she was asking herself.

He ran his fingers through his greasy hair, giving a groan that bordered upon a growl. He was already being stupid – might as well keep on pushing it. "Shit, Ro, you almost died. I was worried sick. Dammit."

She stared for a moment longer, then turned to smile weakly at him, and he could tell she'd pass out again soon in a minute or two. "Sorry."

"I don't want an apology."

"Then, what?"

He let out another growl-groan. "Do I have to spell it out for you? Damn, woman, thought you were smarter than that."

"I am. You don't have to spell it out." Her eyes were half-lidded as she waited to fall asleep again, he knew probably not for more than a few minutes, but she added, "Maybe I just kinda want you to."

He let out an abrupt, shocked, bark of a laugh, which quieted into a chuckle. "Ro, you're amazing. Shit, more than amazing. And…" her drowsy smile turned into a slightly less drowsy smirk as he finished, "…I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you."

And as she fell asleep, she slurred out something that almost sounded like, "Took you long enough. Love you, too."


End file.
